


Game Night

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Romance, Sherlock Series 4 Spoilers, mention of infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: Truths are revealed and assumptions challenged during an innocent drinking game among friends. Takes place Post-Series 4.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the [sherlockkinkmeme](https://sherlockkinkmeme.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Prompt #18, BBC, Sherlock/John: Anything where them playing either never have I ever or truth or dare leads to them getting together it can be an au or canon compliant it doesn’t matter just them playing this (they can be playing only with each other or with others present again I don’t mind). 
> 
> Much thanks to both [trickybonmot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickybonmot/pseuds/trickybonmot) and [Besina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besina/pseuds/Besina) for the fantastic beta. Your suggestions and insight helped tremendously. 
> 
> Also thanks to the folks in AD, who provided several ideas for the game that I stole with permission ;)
> 
> Be aware that there is mention of infidelity in this fic.

 

 

The past year had been hell on everybody. Grief, loss, trauma - it had all taken its toll. Recovery was slow and painful, but once achieved, John felt the urge to mark the occasion. A specific thing to look back on and point to, to say, “This was when our new beginning happened. Right here. Mark the date.”

The day he was shot. The day he met Sherlock Holmes. The day Sherlock jumped. The day Sherlock came back. His wedding day. The birth of Rosie. The day Mary died.

He needed another tangible event that symbolized moving on from the old and getting on with the new.

It was time to get busy living, and what better way than to throw a party? Once 221 Baker Street had been restored to its former glory, John decided that a communal celebration dressed up as a housewarming would be just the thing.

“But why?” Sherlock had whined, unsurprisingly. “It’s the same old place. Nothing new here. What’s the point?”

“Nothing new?” John gave him a hard look. “For one - I moved back in, and brought a toddler with me. Two - I gave up my job so I could be available to you full time. It’s not just about the flat. We’re essentially rearranging our entire lives to fit our new reality. And think of Mrs Hudson. She loves a good party, and after all she’s been through she deserves one. Don’t you think? You know how she loves organizing these things.”

Sherlock grumbled something that sounded like, “But there’ll be people,” and stomped off to his room to sulk. John smiled to himself. He knew that mentioning Mrs Hudson had been just the right pressure to apply. Sherlock would do anything for her.

So the planning commenced. Mrs Hudson was in her element, baking and preparing what seemed like enough food for an entire army. (The kitchen still functioned as such - there had been no time yet for Sherlock’s experiments to have taken over.) John took charge of cleaning the living area, and Sherlock - well.  It was no surprise that he avoided all of the preparations, claiming he was going to keep Rosie from getting underfoot by taking her to the park to see the ducks and get ice cream. And while they were at it, to bring her by the lab for Molly to coo over and spoil even further.

John knew what he was up to, but he was too euphoric to care. Not even a kidnapping by Mycroft Holmes would have dampened his spirits today. At any rate, Sherlock was giving the rest of them a gift by keeping John’s precocious little girl occupied with activities that she loved, with a person that she adored.

John’s heart warmed at that thought. His little girl, loving and being loved by the world’s foremost consulting detective.  

Sherlock’s parents would be taking charge of Rosie in the late afternoon and keeping her through the next day, the better for the adults to have a truly *adult* party. John was finding himself exceedingly grateful to a number of people these days, for their help and support. And not least of all to people whose last name was Holmes.

In the end, there were only six attendees. Although Mycroft had been heavily involved in the building’s restoration, he had wisely declined Sherlock and John’s invitation. Tensions between him and Mrs Hudson had not lessened during the past few months. And although the cafe had been included in the renovation, Mr Chatterjee begged off the celebration, claiming family obligations in Islamabad.

Greg and Molly arrived together; they had been dating for about a month at this point. They were both frequent visitors of 221B and were comfortable enough to make themselves completely at home without waiting to be prompted. At this point, they weren’t guests so much as family.

Hopkins and Donovan from the Yard had also been invited. John knew that Sally and Sherlock had buried the hatchet at some point during his and Sherlock’s estrangement. He had no idea what had been involved, but he supposed if Sherlock could forgive her then he could as well.

As it turned out, Hopkins arrived from the Yard solo just a few minutes after Greg and Molly.  “Sally sends her regrets,” she apologized as she entered the flat. “She has to stay late to finish up some paperwork for her latest case.”

John watched as her eyes swept down Sherlock’s frame from head to toe. She smiled shyly, still a bit starstruck yet clearly liking what she saw. “Mr Ho - Sherlock!” she stammered. She made an aborted movement to shake his hand, before remembering both her hands were full.  “You were brilliant last week, tracking down that human trafficking ring. I thought -- I wasn’t sure what books you had or already replaced, but I took a gamble that you didn’t have this one yet.”  She pressed a garishly wrapped package into his hands.

Something flared, hot and sharp, in John’s chest. He recognised it for what it was - petty jealousy, that he had no right to. It didn’t stop it from hurting, though. Women of all types fell under Sherlock Holmes’s spell; John should really be used to it by now. Molly Hooper, Janine Hawkins, Stella Hopkins, even gay dominatrices. No one was immune, it seemed. Sherlock, however, always remained above it all. Distant and aloof.

“Oh! And I brought along Sally’s as well.” Hopkins handed Sherlock another present, this one a blue gift bag with white tissue paper poking out the top.  

“Thank you,” Sherlock smiled tightly as he accepted the gifts. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the sitting room as he moved to place them with the rest.  

Hopkins glanced around the flat, finally having the luxury to really observe. Previous visits, at least when John had been present, had always been so rushed that she had been ushered out within moments of entry.  Her eyes widened as they skimmed past the bison skull with headphones, and the human skull sitting next to a pile of knifed mail.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked politely. “I see you brought some fizzy drinks. Did you want to mix that with anything?”

“Oh! Yes, thank you.”

So it was a fairly small crowd in the end that gathered together to celebrate a new beginning. Small yet comfortable; just the way John liked it. As everyone gathered in the sitting room, drinks and plates of nibbles in hand, John was forcibly reminded of the one and only Christmas that he and Sherlock had spent here together. That, too, had been a small crowd. Same number of people, with just a slightly different makeup. No girlfriend this time around.  

John didn’t have any plans for the foreseeable future to become involved in a romantic relationship. He’d long since come to terms with the fact that he would rather put all of his eggs in one basket than try to live two separate lives, feeling like he was constantly being pulled in two different directions with two different priorities. Sherlock and Rosie were his family, and Sherlock was his work, period. There was no separating the two any longer, at least in his mind.

He wasn’t sure how Sherlock felt about the whole thing, but that really wasn’t relevant, was it? The truth of the matter was that he felt like his life had been reset; that he was back to when he had been the happiest: solving crimes and blogging about it. And as far as he knew, Sherlock might still be forgetting his pants. Back to the good old days.

Drinking, eating, and gift-unwrapping commenced with enthusiasm. The drinks flowed copiously, resulting in a relaxed atmosphere and very pliant people. Gifts had been piled high on Sherlock and John’s communal desk, some from people who couldn’t attend tonight and who either had them delivered or had dropped off themselves.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had sent several packages. Stamford once again sent his regrets along with his gift. Mycroft had done the practical thing and had his offerings delivered and set up the day before when there were no inhabitants in residence: a state of the art Cuisinart Cappuccino/Espresso machine for Sherlock and John, and a 13th century Persian rug to hang in Mrs Hudson’s renovated bedroom.

John could never remember later who first brought up the idea. If he were a betting man he would have put his money on either himself or Lestrade. At any rate, after a few disappointing rounds of Cluedo, someone suggested the drinking game ‘Never Have I Ever’.

“Never have I what?” Sherlock asked.

“You’ve never played, Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock drawled.

“It’s pretty popular with the college crowd. You take turns thinking of potentially embarrassing or funny things, like ‘never have I ever kissed on the first date’, or ‘never have I ever cheated on an exam’, and everyone who *has* done that thing has to take a drink of something alcoholic. It’s pretty fun, actually. I haven’t played it in ages.”

Sherlock didn’t look at all convinced.

“Alright,” John piped up. “I’ll go first.” He felt as giddy as a schoolboy at his first frat party. “Never have I ever crashed my parents’ vehicle.” He took a healthy swig of his Guinness, wiping his mouth afterwards and gracing the room with a 100 watt grin. Lestrade looked a bit more chastened, but also took a pull from his beer.

“No, no, John,” Molly admonished. “If you’re the one saying it, the statement has to be true. Those are the rules.”

“Eh, I’ve never been one to play by the rules,” John said. “Let’s just ignore that one.”

Molly shrugged. “As you wish.”

“So that means you and Greg *have* crashed your parents’ vehicle, and the rest of us who didn’t drink have not,” Sherlock said.

“Correct,” John agreed. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Oh no.” Sherlock shook his head emphatically. “I’ll just observe this time around. You go, Mrs Hudson.”

“Alright. Let’s see… never have I ever… cheated on my husband. Oh! Sorry…. Never have I ever cheated on my partner!” With no shame whatsoever she drank from her tumbler of scotch.

John could feel his face burning. Surely she didn’t know about John’s past indiscretions. His eyes involuntarily cast over to Sherlock - as always, looking to follow his lead. Sherlock’s eyes pierced his, mouth turned down in a slight frown; he gave a minute shake of his head. John blinked in acknowledgment, and did not take a drink.

Sherlock always did think John was a better man than he actually was. He supposed the rest of the room didn’t need to be privy to that particular failing. Nobody cared if Mrs Hudson had been unfaithful to her murderous husband, but John’s sin wouldn’t be so easily overlooked.

John exhaled an internal sigh of relief as the game moved on to Molly. Surely she would think of something relatively innocuous; he couldn’t envision her having much of an imagination when it came to serious rule breaking.

“Never have I ever… had public sex!”

Well then.

Hopkins flushed just slightly before her lips quirked up and she took a drink of her rum and coke.

“Really Stella?” Greg asked with a smirk. “Details please.”

“Nothing doing. I’m not gonna say anything to incriminate myself, not even outside of work hours.”

“Aww, spoilsport,” Greg groused good-naturedly.

“Your turn, Greg!” Molly enthused.

“Alright. Well, erm… let me think. Oh! Never have I ever changed a dirty nappy.” He winked at John.

John, Molly and Mrs Hudson raised their beverages in a mock salute before they all took drinks. Lestrade raised an eyebrow as he gave Sherlock a Look. “You’re godfather, your godchild lives with you, and you’ve never changed her nappy?”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, popping the ‘P’. He looked not at all ashamed of the fact, either. In fact, he looked bored. John frowned.

Greg shook his head. “Why am I not at all surprised?”

“You really shouldn’t be,” Sherlock replied.

“Your turn, Stella.”

Hopkins cleared her throat. “Yes. Okay. Never have I ever been reprimanded at work.” Only she and Sherlock failed to take a drink. Her back straightened and a look of pride washed across her face. Of course, John thought uncharitably. Trying to impress the Great Detective.

“Really, Sherlock?” Greg asked, disbelief etched on his features.

“I invented my job, Greg. I don’t have a boss to answer to.”

“No? I thought that was John.”

“Oh ha-ha very funny. John is my partner, not my boss.”

Inexplicable warmth flooded John’s body at Sherlock’s choice of words. It wasn’t that long ago that John’s title had been ‘assistant’. An upgrade seemed to have occurred without his being aware.

A feeling that was not long in dissipating, given the next words out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“This is boring,” Sherlock groused, a glass still full of cider in his hand. He waved his other hand in the air as he pronounced, “All of these scenarios are so mundane and puerile - things that uni kids might think up. Honestly, can nobody think of anything *interesting* anymore, or is that too much to task your tiny little brains with?”

John scowled. He had been having such a lovely time; he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so relaxed and - well, happy. Leave it to Sherlock to ruin a perfectly nice game during a perfectly nice evening.

“Game not interesting enough for you, Sherlock?” he snapped. “Alright. Since it’s my turn, how about this: never have I ever kept human body parts in the fridge.”

Molly groaned. Lestrade rolled his eyes. Mrs Hudson pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress laughter. Hopkins gasped, eyes wide as saucers. _Yeah,_ John thought, _what do you think of your crush now?_

Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh before bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a shallow sip. “Anybody else? I didn’t think so. My turn. Never have I ever ruined my flatmate’s sock index.”

John felt a giggle trying to escape without his permission. He violently suppressed it and just rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his beer. Everyone else just looked confused.

“You may have never violated my sock index,” John pointed out, “but you did arrange all of my ties in a certain order. By _colour.”_

Sherlock flushed. “That’s only because you’re colour-blind.”

John barked out a laugh. “I most certainly am not. I just don’t have your visual palette for fashion sense, apparently.”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked in what could have been a smile if anyone was watching closely. John most certainly was not. Everyone else was, though. Lestrade side-eyed Molly with a knowing smirk. Mrs Hudson beamed at everyone and nothing, as if a secret she carried within her had finally been revealed. Hopkins’ eyes darted from Sherlock to John and back again, several times.

“Never have I ever faked my own death!” Lestrade pronounced, out of turn but clearly pleased with himself. John glared at him; even after several years, that subject was still a major sore point. It probably always would be.

“Clearly you’re all ganging up on me now,” Sherlock muttered before taking another sip of his drink.

Before Sherlock had even swallowed, John declared, “Never have I ever helped someone _else_ fake their death.”

Sherlock spluttered, “Honestly John, if you’re just going to continue to target me specifically - “

“Drink, Sherlock.”

Sherlock huffed. He complied, but grudgingly. “You do realise my drink has a higher alcohol content than yours. This is hardly a fair contest.”

“Whoever said life was fair?”

“Er,” Molly squeaked. John winced. Shit, he had forgotten about Molly and her role in Sherlock’s fake suicide. He hadn’t meant to single her out. But she was a trooper, and took it all in stride. She blushed prettily before bringing her wine to her lips and taking a healthy drink. She grinned at everyone sheepishly.

Since the game seemed to have devolved into a lack of order, Sherlock spoke up. “Never have I ever had sex with a woman.”

Immediately John and Greg raised their drinks and took a chug. Sherlock sat serenely, glass nowhere near his mouth.

John frowned. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked. “Yes, John?”

“Um - Janine?” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, giving Sherlock his ‘we both know what’s going on’ face. “Irene Adler?”

Sherlock threw up his hands. “Honestly, John! How can you still think - Irene is a lesbian! We never slept together. And Janine was all for show. She made all that tabloid stuff up. Surely you’ve figured that out by now?”

John hadn’t. He had clearly missed something - or just assumed too much.

Everyone thought that was that. Except, of course, for Sherlock. He smirked when both Mrs Hudson and Hopkins raised their drinks and partook.

“Mrs Hudson!” John exclaimed.

“Well what, John?” Mrs Hudson huffed. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean that I’m stodgy and stuffy as well.  And just because I’ve been married to a man doesn’t preclude this sort of thing. Honestly, one would think that you’ve had your head in the sand all these years.”

Greg cocked his head at Hopkins. “Stella?”

Hopkins shrugged. “Yep. Lesbian.”

 _Oh,_ John thought.

“Who is currently seeing Sally Donovan,” Sherlock announced, to the surprise of everyone. Sherlock inclined his head, and smiled. “I believe tomorrow is your three month anniversary. Congratulations to the both of you, Inspector.”

Relief rushed in and weakened John’s limbs. If he hadn’t already been sitting down, he would have collapsed onto the floor and made a spectacle of himself. Mended fences or no, John couldn’t imagine Sally sharing _anybody_ with Sherlock Holmes.

“Thank you,” Hopkins said. Clearly her semi-inebriated state had lessened her self-consciousness. “And what about you, Sherlock. Have you had sex _at all?_ ”

Sherlock smirked. “You’ll have to continue playing the game to find out.”

“My turn,” Mrs Hudson interrupted. Her eyes twinkled with good humour as she said, “Never have I ever defenestrated anyone!” She giggled, and ducked her head as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

Greg guffawed.

“Now I know I’m being picked on,” Sherlock grumbled good-naturedly. He took a drink, and winked at Mrs Hudson.

John also took a drink. “John!” Greg exclaimed, shocked.

John shrugged. “I was in the army.”

Molly was obviously one of those people who came out of their shell - in a good way - once they had a few drinks in them. Her cheeks were a healthy pink and her eyes sparkled as she gestured animatedly. “Oh! Oh, I’ve got one.” She flapped her hand in Sherlock’s direction. “Never have I ever sexted a lesbian!”

Sherlock gave her one of his rare genuine smiles that he reserved for people he was truly fond of. “You always could see me,” he said softly, before taking a drink. Hopkins also took a drink.

“Wait.” John sat up straighter, confusion clearly writ on his face. “I thought you said you never - “

“I never had sex with her, John. Doesn’t mean I’ve never… you know… we talked about this before, remember?” His voice softened. “Even _I_ text.”

 _Yes,_ John thought. _But is there anything else that you do? And if so, with whom?_

Hopkins chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she tried to come up with something at least slightly provocative. “Oh! How about this? Never have I ever been arrested!”

Every single person, except for her, raised their drinks and took healthy swallows. If the look on her face was anything to go by, she was completely flabbergasted. She turned to Lestrade in shock.

“Greg?” she spluttered.

At the same time, Greg was staring at the woman to his left. “Molls??”

Molly shrugged, blushing prettily. At that moment John thought that if he had met her a few years later than he did, he might have made a go for it. After they had both settled into their true selves.

“I was young, and was talked into joining a protest to ‘save the trees’. I actually chained myself to one, for twelve hours before they took me away.”

Greg laughed. “Now that I can believe.” He turned to Hopkins and explained, “I was a juvenile delinquent back in the day. I kid you not. Back in secondary school I ran with a rough crowd, got caught shoplifting once.”

“What about you, Mrs Hudson?” Molly asked, more curious than appalled. “What were you arrested for?”

“Well, dear, I helped my husband run a drug cartel, didn’t I? If it hadn’t been for dear Sherlock, I probably would have been locked away for life. Thank goodness he came along when he did, and proved that my husband coerced me into the whole thing.”

John wasn’t sure that was precisely true, but he didn’t have it in him to judge. If he was being honest with himself (and that in itself was a fairly recent development), he belonged in jail for killing the cabbie during their first case together. There was absolutely no way he had been justified in killing an unarmed man, who had posed no immediate threat to Sherlock at the time. The only person he had saved Sherlock from that night was himself. There had been no gun to his head, only his self-destructive need to show off and be proven right.

And, if he was still being honest with himself -- he would do it again in a heartbeat. Regardless of the possible repercussions.

And didn’t that tell you everything you ever needed to know about Doctor John Hamish Watson. Christ.

“John?”

John startled to awareness. Five sets of eyes stared at him, concern radiating from them all. He swallowed self consciously.

“Er sorry. Wool gathering.”

“It’s your turn,” Sherlock prodded.

“Oh. Right. Um… give me a minute.” John rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.

Well. Maybe he could find out what he wanted to know just by playing the game. It provided a neat cover.

“Okay. Never have I ever lost my virginity.”

There. That was straightforward enough, with no room for misinterpretation.

Everyone took a drink, except for --

“What’s your definition of virginity?” Sherlock asked, straight-faced. “Does it necessarily involve penetration?”

Oh for the love of -  

“Doesn’t have to, no.”

“Oh. Well. In that case….” Sherlock tipped his glass and drank.

Hopkins smirked. “Guess that answers _my_ question, then.”

Okay. This was information John could roll with. Sherlock had never had sex with a woman, and he just implied that he had never done - _that_ . But he had been *with* _somebody._ So. Not completely uninterested or inexperienced. Fine. Good.

He had no idea what to do with the information now that he had it.

It wasn’t like he ever had a chance anyway. Sherlock belonged with someone posh and refined, much like himself. Someone with a brain as big as his own who could keep him engaged, someone interesting enough to keep him from being not-bored --

“Never have I ever fallen in love with my best friend,” Lestrade’s rough voice called out.

John jolted back into the present. He felt as if his chest had been cracked open, his heart laid bare for all to see. He was sure that Greg hadn’t meant to expose him; it was just an extremely unfortunate coincidence, that was all. His eyes snapped to Sherlock’s face in panic. His palms were sweaty and his left hand trembled; he closed it into a fist and prayed to any god there was that Sherlock’s deductive skills had been blunted by alcohol.

Sherlock’s eyes widened. The hand that was not holding his drink gripped the armrest so hard his knuckles were white. He looked almost as panic-stricken as John felt.

John could be misinterpreting the signs. But what if he wasn’t? He could either take the first step and risk it all, potentially gaining everything - or he could play it safe, defend the status quo, and lose any chance of being and having more. Those were his choices: soldier or coward.

John Watson never played it safe, and he most certainly was not a coward.

He owed it to Sherlock to be honest, for once. To ease the way for him, the way he’d done for John so often in the past. Time came to a standstill. Everything and everyone faded into the background, superfluous and irrelevant.

John lifted a trembling hand and, eyes never leaving Sherlock’s, brought his beer to his lips and took two slow swallows. Sherlock’s eyes softened with relief, and he let out a sigh that was meant for John’s ears only. He inclined his head ever so slightly, and repeated John’s motions with his own beverage.

The buzzing in John’s ears reached crescendo levels. He had no idea if anybody else had taken a drink. His world narrowed to watching Sherlock’s lips curl around the lip of his glass and Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and Sherlock’s eyes glitter while they held his own. He sensed that all eyes in the room were on the two of them as they confirmed what most of them had been assuming for years.

For once in his life, John didn’t give a rat’s arse what this looked like to everybody else. Because what they looked like was exactly what they were.

Two idiots who only just now allowed themselves to see what they could become.

Not just Sherlock and John, but SherlockandJohn.

Even Mary had known.

“Well!” Mrs Hudson exclaimed after an eternity, breaking the spell. She stood up and clapped her hands together. “My, how time flies. I’m so sorry, but I have an early train to catch in the morning for my sister’s and I don’t want to leave the cleaning up for too late. I’m sure you all understand.”

John heard the sounds of people gathering up their things and herding out the door, but his attention remained riveted on Sherlock. They both remained seated, eyes locked, while everyone around them murmured their goodbyes and well wishes. He knew he was being rude, he and Sherlock both, but his limbs remained frozen. He thought he heard Mrs Hudson thanking everyone for coming and for their generous gifts, so his guilt about failing as host diminished somewhat. Finally, as the sounds of activity faded away, Sherlock cleared his throat and broke eye contact.

“An early train to catch?” he rumbled, and _Christ_ did his voice send shock waves through John’s system. Had he always had that effect on John, or was he just now acutely aware of it?

John’s eyes snapped to Mrs Hudson, who was standing by the door to the flat with her arms akimbo.

“Oh that was just to get everybody out the door. I know you two have no intention of picking up anything tonight, and I’m certainly not going to, not at this hour. I’ll just leave you two alone and come up sometime in the afternoon to finish up. Sherlock, remember that your parents will be dropping Rosie off at four.” She laid a finger on the side of her nose, winked, and was out the door before either one of them could respond.

John swiveled his head to catch Sherlock’s eyes again. There was energy crackling in their blue depths that hadn’t been there a moment ago. John sucked in a breath as he identified it: affection, passion, lust, _love._

John shook his head, trying to clear it. “Um - should we have let everyone go after so much drinking?”

“They all took cabs to get here, so my assumption is that’s how they left.”

“Right. Okay. Good."

As if obeying an unseen puppet master, they both rose from their seats simultaneously and took two steps towards each other before stopping. Sherlock started to reach out, stopping about halfway to John’s face. He slowly lowered his hand, unsure of the next steps in this dance. Sherlock was clearly out of his depth, and was looking to John for guidance.

Sherlock had taken the lead so often during their partnership; now it was John’s turn to step up.

John cleared his throat. “So,” he said. Both of his hands were perfectly steady. “How long?”

Sherlock just stared at him for a good ten seconds, then blinked rapidly for five. John knew that process. Sherlock was rebooting his hard drive.

“Since I was shot and literally came back from the dead for you.”

“Oh,” John exhaled softly.

“And you?”

John didn’t have to think twice. “During your best man speech. At my fucking wedding.”

Sherlock chuckled. “What a fine pair we make.”

“Terrible. Horrendous timing, on both our parts.”

“Yes.”

They both laughed. John felt the tension melt away from his muscles, and he watched Sherlock’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Better late than never?” Sherlock asked, uncertainty causing his voice to rise at the end.

“Yes.” John smiled. He crossed the rest of the distance between them, until the tips of their shoes touched and John could feel Sherlock’s breath on his cheek. Panic briefly flickered across Sherlock’s face, but then John lifted his hand and tucked a stray curl behind Sherlock’s ear. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered shut, and John lifted his head to press their lips together.

Sherlock surprised John by parting his lips and sighing into John’s mouth. John let out an involuntary groan, grasping Sherlock’s upper arms. Sherlock responded by clutching John’s hips and pulling him close. John put his arms around Sherlock’s neck and guided his head down so that John could more easily lick into his mouth.

John Watson had always loved kissing. In many ways it felt more intimate to him than the sex act itself. A first kiss was like crossing the Rubicon; once that step had been taken, something irrevocable had taken place. The relationship took on a different definition than it had before; the very dynamics changed.

Such a thought in regard to Sherlock should have sent a frisson of fear through John. Instead, it cleared his mind and sharpened his focus onto what it was he truly wanted, and was willing to take a risk for.

John wanted _everything._

The kisses grew wetter, and deeper. John’s hands threaded into Sherlock’s curls as Sherlock clutched John’s arse. They pressed closer and closer until it felt like John was going to sink into Sherlock’s bones, not knowing where he ended or his partner began. Before long they were rutting against each other, panting into each other’s mouths and barely able to stay upright. Before they both just collapsed to the floor, John had the presence of mind to extricate himself and put a modicum of distance between them.

“I think we should take this to your bedroom,” John said, palm placed on Sherlock’s chest. “Just in case - you know, Mrs Hudson.”

Sherlock had never looked so enticing. His eyes were glazed with desire, pupils blown. His lips were swollen from the kisses John had just bestowed; the way he was biting the lower one made John want to throw him down and ravage him.

Sherlock nodded dazedly. “Bed. Yes. Good.” He grabbed John’s hand and tugged him along after him as they both stumbled their way into Sherlock’s bedroom. John kicked the door shut and flipped on the light switch before he crowded Sherlock against the wardrobe and kissed him again. Kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. God, he could drown in these kisses. He was going to combust before even making it to the bed.

Thankfully, Sherlock knew how to take the reins and get things back on track. He broke away from John’s mouth moving to pepper his neck with kisses, fumbling with the buttons on John’s shirt as he angled for better access. “John,” he panted, “have you -- am I the first -- “

“No,” John gasped, tilting his head back, “Major Sholto.”

“Sholto! I knew it,” Sherlock growled. He had undone all of the buttons, and John’s right shoulder was already bared. Sherlock placed a warm palm on John’s bare chest. He started walking forward, forcing John backward towards the bed. “You and your military kink.”

John barked out a high pitched laugh. “ _My_ military kink? You’re the one getting ready to fuck a soldier.”

Sherlock lowered his voice an octave. “Am I?” He slid John’s shirt the rest of the way off, throwing it to the side. His attention was momentarily held by his first sight of John’s scar. He reached out a finger and gently traced the raised tissue.

John swallowed. “Well… probably not literally. Yet, at least. But you get the general idea.”

Sherlock tilted his head. “Yes, I think I do.”

With that, he gave John a shove.

“Oof!” John landed on his back on top of Sherlock’s down comforter. He almost groaned for the sheer decadence of the feeling against his bare skin. He propped himself up on his elbows. “This is hardly fair. You’re still completely dressed.”

Sherlock smirked at him. He kicked off his shoes, and with graceful movements only he could get away with, stripped down to his pants in record time. John just stared at him in awe, enjoying the show.

“Are you going to make me do all the work now?” Sherlock teased. He looked utterly ridiculous, standing there in his red boxer briefs with his hands on his hips. Boxer briefs that were snug on his thighs and accentuated how very fit he still was, even though he was pushing forty. He was lean and muscular, his body no longer wasted away from drugs and neglect. His pale chest was mostly smooth, with only a few dark hairs present. John’s mouth watered.

“Didn’t forget your pants this time, I see,” John joked. He got rid of his own shoes and socks, then quickly undid his belt and shed his trousers, revealing black cotton briefs. He playfully rocked his hips forward. “Come and play, you. I’ll show you who takes charge next.”

Arousal washed over Sherlock’s face; he made a low noise in the back of his throat before he pounced forward, intent on being the one in control. But John was not having it. As soon as Sherlock’s body covered his own, he flipped Sherlock so that he was the one on top looking down. Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise. God, his eyes were gorgeous. Blue/green/grey depending on how the light hit them, right now they looked eerily silver. John had rarely seen them this colour before. Once, maybe, when he was high on cocaine. Right now he was high on something else, and it made John feel just a little bit smug.

“Do you want me?” John whispered, his lips hovering mere millimetres above Sherlock’s. He rolled his hips, bumping their clothed erections together. Sherlock inhaled sharply. “Do you, Sherlock?”

“ _Yes,”_ Sherlock gasped. John surged forward, pressing their bare chests together for the first time. John’s fingers threaded through Sherlock’s curls - just as soft as he had always imagined - and tugged his head back, baring a column of spotless ivory skin. John wasted no time in leaving his mark; he pinched the skin between his teeth and sucked. Sherlock bucked beneath him, but John didn’t let go. He was a master at this sort of thing. He knew Sherlock’s reaction was more the result of surprise, not pain. John wasn’t a sadist. He knew how to expertly tread the line between pleasure and discomfort.

Sherlock clutched at him helplessly. “Never…have I ever….received a love bite.”

John smiled into Sherlock’s neck. He kissed the spot that would show a glorious bruise later and moved upward. He left kisses all along Sherlock’s jaw, and moved onto his cheek and the side of his face. Sherlock tried to capture John’s lips with his own, but John deftly avoided Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock groaned in frustration. “John, kiss me!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” John reached Sherlock’s temple and placed a tender kiss there. Then in the middle of Sherlock’s forehead. John’s entire body blanketed and embraced Sherlock’s, from head to toe. Their legs tangled together. John looked down into Sherlock’s face, and felt his heart stop. Sherlock’s eyes were full of heat, desire, and something else. John saw the love that he felt being reflected back at him. It took his breath away.

“Never have I ever loved anybody as much as I love you,” John breathed, before lowering his head and covering Sherlock’s mouth with his own.

Heat, love, passion, desire... all of it flowed back and forth between the two of them. They rocked together, arousal building as they rubbed against each other. John was very good at holding his arousal in check while his partner caught up with him, but Sherlock had no such self control. When John’s hand trailed up his bare leg, Sherlock shivered. He broke their kiss and grasped John’s shoulders, pushing them apart.

“John... I’m not... I feel like I’m not going to last much longer…”

John grinned. He slipped a hand inside Sherlock’s pants, cupping his arse. He pulled Sherlock against him as he rocked forward, creating even more friction and unleashing the last of Sherlock’s self control. Sherlock threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut as his orgasm rolled through him, shouting out John’s name at the ceiling. John waited until Sherlock had ridden out the aftershocks before he let himself go, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest as his climax overtook him.

Sherlock’s arms collapsed to cradle John’s head. When their breathing had finally subsided to manageable levels, Sherlock said softly, “Never have I ever been in love before.”

John’s head shot up. His eyes narrowed. “Oh my god...Greg totally set us up.”

Sherlock smirked. “Knew you’d get there eventually.”

“He _knew…_ how did he know?”

“He knows the signs. He is a detective, you know. And he knows both of us very well.”

“Yeah I suppose he does.” John let his head drop back onto Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair, surprisingly gentle and soothing. He surrendered himself to the feeling of being cherished, letting the sounds and smells of the night wash over him. Sherlock’s strokes continued, and soon he felt himself slipping under.

Before he could do so completely he mumbled, “Should we turn out the lights?”

“Someone should. We should also rid ourselves of our… we should clean ourselves off and you should obtain fresh clothing.”

John grunted. “Of course you know what I sleep in. Maybe I should just go to my room? I have nothing here.”

Sherlock sighed. John grinned into his chest; even when warm and pliant after sex, Sherlock could still radiate annoyance. “Don’t be ridiculous, John. I myself sleep in the nude, but you’re more than welcome to borrow a pair of my pants along with pyjama bottoms. I’m sure they’ll fit just fine.”

“Right.” John really didn’t feel like moving at all.

Sherlock placed a kiss on top of John’s head. “Why don’t we jump in the shower together? Then we don’t have to take one in the morning. Unless we make another mess, of course.”

John grinned. “Okay. Let’s.”

There was no more sex that night. Just a mutual scrubbing down, hair washing, and snogging under running water. It was all quite lovely and romantic, and John inwardly rolled his eyes at the cliche of it all. But he knew he needed to revel in it while he could, because Sherlock Holmes rarely surrendered to sentimentality. And John was fine with that - he was a man’s man, after all. Flowers and chocolates weren’t really his style.

But snuggling was. In the end they both went to bed starkers, because why use up clean laundry? They lay under the covers facing each other, hands resting on each other’s hips. Just before they drifted off to sleep, Sherlock whispered, “Never have I ever believed that I could have this.”

“Yours. Always and forever,” John mumbled before succumbing to the most restful night’s sleep in recent memory.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to challenge myself by venturing more into 'mature' territory with this. Since most of my fics are rated Teen, I hope that I did it justice. Thanks to both of my betas for feedback on this particular issue. 
> 
> Join me on [tumblr](http://pipmer.tumblr.com/) if you'd like.


End file.
